Kingdom for a Horse
by Proxima Shining
Summary: What are the origins of the Malfoy family and how exactly did these wizarding aristocrats come into possession of their manor in Wiltshire? How much is a horse worth? And why do swords slither? You will learn this and more during an excursion into medieval England of 1066, presented to you by Lucius and Scorpius Malfoy.


"Grandfather, do you have a moment?"

Lucius Malfoy looked up from the business document he's been going through and observed the slender form of his grandson leaning awkwardly against the doorway of his study. The boy resembled his father more and more each day – for one fleeting moment Lucius had the impression as though it was Draco himself who came to have a chat. Which was, of course, merely wishful thinking on his part. After the debacle that was the last wizarding war, Lucius' relationship with his son was rather strained, especially since Draco cast away the traditional pure-blood ideas he'd been taught and did his best to follow a path that was almost the exact opposite of Lucius'.

"What is it, Scorpius?" Lucius said with an amiable smile and laid aside his reading. He and Draco might have problems but he'd be damned if that should affect his relationship with his grandson.

Scorpius fidgeted slightly, as if unsure whether he should speak or not, but then he took a deep breath and said: "I was wondering if you could help me with one of my summer assignments."

Lucius couldn't help but be impressed. The summer holidays have only just started, and instead of running away with a broomstick early in the morning and not to be seen until dawn, as his father used to do, the boy was diligently working on his homework. Very commendable. Less commendable, however, was that Scorpius' most likely enticement for finishing his workload as quickly as possible was the chance that he then would be free to hang out with Harry Potter's spawn for the rest of the summer. How the two could have become friends was anyone's guess.

"I'm afraid we'll have to approve it with your father first," Lucius said. The very last thing he needed while bonding with his grandson was his son happening upon them and starting to shout accusations. Draco was determined to give his son an upbringing very different from his own, and thus most child-rearing methods Lucius utilized were met with disapproval.

"Oh, he already knows," Scorpius waved his hand dismissively. "It was him who sent me here."

"Truly?" _Interesting_. Last time Lucius tried to give the boy some lessons, he then had to listen to a long lecture from an enraged Draco about 'poisoning the mind of an innocent boy with toxic ideology'.

"Very well," he motioned for the boy to come inside and made to close the door behind him with the flick of his wand, but then decided to leave it open. This way no one would be able to accuse him of attempting to secretly feed Scorpius pure-blood propaganda behind closed door. He waited for his grandson to sit down in a chair opposite him and then asked: "Which subject do you need help with?"

The boy fidgeted again, visibly uncomfortable with the topic, before he answered, "Muggle Studies."

"What!" Lucius nearly fell out of his chair. "You take _Muggle Studies_? How could your father allow that?"

The Malfoy patriarch balled up his fists, heat flushing through his entire body as his blood pressure rose. Not raising the boy with the traditional beliefs in blood purity and robbing him of the knowledge that, as a pure-blood, he was naturally superior to those of lesser blood status was one thing. But actually making him study a subject that taught about those worthless, filthy, inferior... This was taking it too far! Was Draco actively trying to turn the boy into a Muggle-loving blood-traitor?

Scorpius regarded him questioningly. "It's a compulsory subject, Grandfather," he said slowly, his innocent grey eyes meeting Lucius' stormy ones.

_So it was that old hag McGonagall's fault?_ He should've known.

"Since when?" Lucius managed to utter in a reasonably calm way, schooling his features into indifference.

"Umm... Since the war, I guess?" Scorpius shrugged his shoulders. "Professor Thomas said it's meant to ensure that the next generation doesn't hold onto the same old prejudices that caused the rise of Vol— er... _You Know Who_. It actually isn't that bad, really. We learn a lot of interesting stuff about Muggle culture – airplanes, videos, electricity and such."

"I'm afraid I won't be able to help you with that. I've never been very keen on Muggle activities." Lucius did his best to keep a level tone, though anger was still boiling under the surface. _Muggle Studies! _Now he understood why Draco had sent Scorpius to him – it was to rub this into his face. Moreover, he was certain that Draco wasn't competent to advise Scorpius in this subject either. Lucius' son knew about as much about these 'videoplanes' and 'eclecticity' as himself, which was absolutely nothing.

"But Dad was sure you would." Scorpius insisted. "Since it involves family history, and he said you're an expert on Malfoy ancestry. Here's the assignment, see."

A piece of parchment was thrust in front of Lucius' face.

"How my ancestor interacted with Muggles," he read aloud. _Truly?_ _How ridiculous could you get?_ "What is that even supposed to _mean_?" He regarded the parchment with contempt.

"We should pick a witch or wizard from our family tree, who was born at least a century or more ago, and write an essay about how he or she interacted with Muggles," Scorpius explained, an eager gleam in his grey eyes. "And each of us will then read their essay in class at the start of the term. Albus is going to write about Linfred of Stinchcombe, an inventor who used his potioneering skills to help his Muggle neighbors with various ailments. They called him 'the Potterer', and that's where the surname Potter comes from. And Rose will write about Evangeline Orpington, an ancestor on her grandmother's side. She was Minister for Magic and a friend of the Muggle Queen Victoria. Everyone I know has already picked someone, even Blaise Parkinson and Electra Goyle, I'm the only one who's still stuck. I don't know what to do. I've never heard of a Malfoy who has ever mingled with Muggles."

So much for keeping the boy away from old traditions. The result was that the poor child knew nothing of his family history at all.

"Nonsense, Scorpius," Lucius was surprised how easily he slipped into lecture mode, although it was more than two decades ago since he properly taught someone. "As a matter of fact, until the imposition of the Statute of Secrecy members of our family were highly active within affluent Muggle circles. At that time Malfoys used to socialize with high-born Muggles on a regular basis - there are still various works of art and treasures of Muggle origin here at the manor to prove that connection. It's not something to be particularly proud of, but back then mingling with Muggle aristocrats was simply a fashionable thing to do among pure-bloods. Of course, when the Statute was passed, we've cut all ties with the Muggle world, and since that day onwards no Malfoy has married a Muggle or a Muggle-born… _Don't write that down, boy!"_

"Why not?" Scorpius looked up guiltily from the piece of parchment he's been furiously scribbling on.

"Because that's not anyone's business," Lucius looked at him sternly down his nose. "This information is for Malfoy ears only. As far as everyone else is concerned, no Malfoy has ever consorted with Muggles in any way. I won't have you make our family the subject of ridicule just because some distant ancestor was daft enough to marry a Muggle noblewoman."

"Come on, Grandfather!" Scorpius whined. "I can't have my essay consist only of 'no Malfoy has ever consorted with Muggles'. I would get a _T_. I thought you want me to get top marks in all my subjects?"

Lucius let out a tortured breath. _Of course_ he wanted his grandson to excel in school. A Malfoy should always be at the top of his class. And so far Scorpius has performed much better academically than Draco ever did. But _Muggle Studies_...

He quickly went in his mind through the long line of various Malfoy ancestors, trying to decide which of them would be suitable to talk about in public. If he was honest with himself, all too many Malfoys from the times predating the Statute of Secrecy used to be entirely too cozy with Muggles for his liking. To his great shame and revulsion, some of them even went as far as to breed with them - which of course any true Malfoy proud of his pure-blood lineage would deny vehemently.

"I suppose you could write about Nicholas Malfoy," he said at last, "our ancestor from the 14th century. He had disposed of many rebellious Muggle tenants, using the guise of the Black Death that plagued the country at that time, so that his adversaries would appear to have died of natural causes."

"I'm sorry, Grandfather," Scorpius sounded incensed. "But I don't think it's a good idea to write about someone who engaged in criminal activities. I want to introduce our family in a good light."

Lucius failed to see what was wrong with his choice. Disposing of a few annoying tenants was no crime – they were merely Muggles.

"Nicholas was an influential man and a prominent member of the wizarding community of his era," he tried to explain to his grandson, "who has managed to add many lucrative pieces of land to our estate in Wiltshire."

"That's not the point!" Scorpius flushed, which in his case meant that his usually pale cheeks got a slightly pink tint. "Some of my classmates are already picking on me because _you_'ve been in Azkaban. If I introduced another ancestor who was also a criminal, I would never live that down."

The elder Malfoy gritted his teeth. His prison sentence may have lasted only a year – but the disgrace was forever. Over the years he got used to the occasional jibes directed at his person – but to have people harass Scorpius, a young boy who wasn't even born at the time of Lucius' unlucky break-in at the Department of Mysteries...

"Who keeps doing that?" he inquired, his hands balled into fists under the table. He might not have as much influence as he once used to, but he still had enough money to make the lives of those who bothered his grandson more than just a little uncomfortable.

"Just leave that be, Grandfather," Scorpius backpedaled. "You would only make things worse if you meddled in it." It was obvious from his expression that he already regretted having mentioned this particular issue at all. "At least by saying these things, they must in a way acknowledge that I'm really a Malfoy. I can't be both your grandson _and_ the son of Voldemort."

That was another failure on Lucius' part. He had spent a large amount of money over the years to make the rumor of the Dark Lord's alleged paternity disappear off the face of the earth, yet with unsatisfactory results. While it has been almost a decade since that slander was last mentioned in the papers, it has since acquired a life of its own, despite the joint efforts of both Lucius and Draco. People simply loved to gossip about it behind the Malfoys' backs, completely disregarding the fact that Scorpius, with his pale skin, grey eyes and white-blond hair looked like a smaller version of Draco.

"Fine, have it your way," Lucius said aloud while making a mental note to investigate the matter of his grandson's school problems on his own. Scorpius seemed unlikely to divulge the identity of the bullies, but maybe the Potter boy would be more willing to share information under the right circumstances. "If Nicholas Malfoy isn't to your liking, I suppose you could pick the first Lucius Malfoy, the man I was named after. He was a courtier at the royal court of the Muggle Queen Elizabeth and actually aspired for her hand as a young man."

"Wow! Really?" Scorpius cried out, his eyes shining with curiosity.

"Yes. Unfortunately, the Queen declined his marriage offer, which prompted him to place a jinx on her that made her refuse all future aspirants to her hand."

"Grandfather!" Scorpius exclaimed with a scandalized expression on his pointed face. "Do you want me to fail this assignment?"

"Jinxing Muggles was completely legal at that time," Lucius countered.

Scorpius almost jumped off his seat. "But we're supposed to write about an ancestor who did something _nice_ for the Muggles!"

Lucius had a hard time to appear calm while he fumed inwardly. _The nerve of the boy!_ He already gave him two _perfectly fine_ suggestions for the protagonist of his essay, yet Scorpius seemed to be determined to find a fault in everything.

"Well, you should've specified that from the start," he said with a frown. He certainly wasn't going to talk to him about those ancestors who did something truly nice for Muggles. But there was one ancestor he was sure Scorpius wouldn't be able to reject. "What about the progenitor of our family, Armand Malfoy?"

Scorpius looked at his grandfather with evident skepticism. "He didn't torch Muggle houses, poison elderly Muggles or anything like that?"

"Show some respect!" Lucius scolded the boy. "This is the founder of our family we're talking about, not some random thug! He came to Britain with the Muggle king William, called 'the Conqueror', who deemed his service so valuable, that he gifted him with a prime piece of land, on which Armand then founded Malfoy Manor."

Scorpius still didn't seem convinced. "Did this service involve murdering or hexing innocent Muggles?" he asked with suspicion etched in his face.

"Nothing of the like," Lucius shook his head. The boy was grievously uninformed, which was unbecoming of a future heir. It was time for a lesson in Malfoy family history. "It happened like this..."

**~ooOOOoo~****  
**

**Near Caldbec Hill, approximately 7 miles northwest of Hastings, October 14th, 1066**

William, Duke of Normandy, was in deep trouble.

The battle was turning out to be a complete disaster. Months of careful planning and preparations - for nothing. The damned Englishmen were perched atop a steep slope, where they formed a nigh-impenetrable shield wall, their flanks protected by woods. Shooting uphill was never a good idea and William's archers had about as much luck with it as could be expected - none. The spearmen he sent forward after the archers' debacle were met with a barrage of spears, axes, and even stones, unable to force a single opening in the shield wall. And then William had the brilliant idea to launch an attack of the cavalry, with himself riding in the lead to boost the morale of his troops. Yet his horse was promptly killed under him and his companions suffered the same fate. After he nearly broke his neck when his dead warhorse fell to the ground, all he could do was to fight for his life, swinging his sword at the incoming Englishmen, striking, piercing, slicing - over, and over, and over.

After what felt like an eternity but couldn't really be more than a couple of minutes, he felt the onslaught of the English foot soldiers recede a little, granting him and his surviving companions a short reprieve.

"Your Grace!" a familiar voice rang behind him. William turned and saw Count Geoffrey, one of his trusted nobles, pushing through the crowd towards him. "What a relief to see you alive! People saw you fall off your horse and now rumor is spreading through the ranks that you have been killed."

_That wasn't good._

William knew how disastrous consequences such an erroneous belief of his soldiers could have. Every army fought mainly to grant its leader victory. And when the army's leader was killed, the battle was usually over.

With apprehension, he looked around to assess the situation and it took him only a second to comprehend what he was seeing. The left flank of his army was moving in the wrong direction! Instead of charging up the hill, the foot soldiers and cavalrymen were fleeing down. It appeared as though Alan the Red, the commander personally appointed by William to lead the Briton division, gave an order for a general retreat.

The Britons would be most likely soon followed by the rest of his army, if William didn't put a stop to it this instant. But to achieve that, he had to be present among his knights. And as he overlooked the battlefield, one thing was painfully obvious – if he tried to reach his men on foot, he wouldn't be able to get there in time, no matter how fast he ran.

"Horse!" he looked around in all directions but no horse was in sight. Everyone around him - enemy or ally - was horseless. "I need a horse! Fetch me a horse!" he called, desperate. "Kingdom for a horse!"

"Would this one be acceptable?" a smooth, dispassionate voice sounded from behind his back out of the blue.

William whirled around to face the speaker, sword at the ready, and was met with a peculiar sight. A young man with shoulder-length pale blonde hair, dressed in what appeared to be court robes of deep brownish red color, stood several paces away, holding the reins of a large black stallion - saddled and equipped with a full set of protective armor - in his left hand.

The Duke blinked, startled. The man was sticking out like a sore thumb, everything about him literally screamed that he didn't belong here. Everyone around William - including himself - wore some form of battle gear, and after several hours of spearing, cutting and slicing the enemy, their mail armor and weapons were dirty with mud and dried blood. Not this guy, though. His leather shoes were dirt and gore-free, maroon garb including the long voluminous mantle spotless, not a single blonde hair out of place. He gave the impression as if he's just stepped out of the audience chamber of the King of France.

How could William not have noticed him before? And even if he somehow _did_ manage not to see the strange man, how the hell did he overlook a fucking _horse_? Well, no matter, there was no time to lose.

"Your service will be rewarded," William said, reaching for the reins, yet the blonde man jerked his hand away.

"Do you like the horse, then?" he inquired, not letting go of the reins. "Does it fulfill your requirement? Yes or no?" He spoke French with a slight accent which the Duke couldn't quite place, revealing that he came from a part of France other than William's native Normandy.

At this very moment, anything with four legs and a saddle would have fulfilled William's requirement. He needed to get to his troops, and quickly - before the battle was lost.

"Yes, dammit!" he growled, angered by the delay, and wrestled the reins out of the young man's hand.

Without further ado, William put his foot in the stirrup and mounted the horse. Yet just as he was about to urge the steed towards his fleeing troops, he heard the blonde man remark: "I am obliged to inform you that you are entering into a binding magical contract."

William froze and stared down at the man, who appeared to be unperturbed, bored even. As though people weren't dying around him left and right.

_A wizard._ He should've known. That explained the horse. He probably pulled the animal out of his pouch, or whatever it was their kind did to create something from nothing.

The duke has never seen a wizard before, although he had, of course, ordered his commanders to hire several of them for this venture. In the past decades it became nigh impossible to wage a war without having someone of the magical lot at your disposal. The enemy was bound to have some, and you needed yours to cancel out their spells and throw their own at them, so that the non-magical soldiers could slaughter each other in peace, without pesky magical interference.

His half-brother Odo, Bishop of Bayeux, has gathered for him a small contingent of magical people from various parts of France – there were even some women amongst them to William's dismay – and was coordinating the attack with them from the safety of the rear. This had to be one of them, though what he was doing so deep in the battlefield, William had no idea.

Wizard or not, William didn't have a moment to spare for this man's nonsense. Time was of the essence here, he needed to rally his troops _right now_ or he could kiss the English crown farewell.

"Fine, fine, whatever," he growled impatiently, "Now let me go already."

The young wizard stepped aside with a curt bow that left much to be desired in terms of both common courtesy and deference towards one's monarch.

The Duke of Normandy didn't pay any more attention to the ill-mannered magician. Instead, he kicked his horse's sides to spur the steed into a gallop. Wizards and their stupid customs. _Pah!_ What did _he_ care about such rubbish? _Magical contract, my arse._ It was an _honor_ for a commoner to serve their ruler and help him out in a time of need. No matter what hocus pocus thing the lout did, he was still a soldier in William's service and as such, it was his duty to lend him a helping hand whenever necessary.

He had to give it to the maroon-garbed wizard though - the magically created animal was the best steed William has ever ridden in his life. It obeyed every command instantly, was exceptionally steady on his legs - especially considering the difficult terrain - and it also seemed to run much faster than a normal horse, as it carried him into the midst of action in the nick of time.

The hillside was slippery with blood and littered with bodies, arrows, and discarded and broken weapons. The Bretons that made up the left wing of William's army were fleeing down the hill, a horde of ferocious Englishmen in pursuit. How could their commander Alan the Red not see this was the perfect opportunity? For hours they have waited for a crack in the enemy's defense, for a dent in the impenetrable shield wall the English have erected. And now it was there - their right flank was bounding after the retreating Bretons, leaving their position at the top of the hill exposed.

William rode out in front of his fleeing soldiers and knights and lifted his helmet so that those nearest to him could see his face.

"Look at me!" he yelled. "I'm alive and with the aid of God I will gain the victory!"

He was covered in blood from head to toe but he could see recognition in the eyes of his men nevertheless, the relief and hope in their faces. He directed his horse towards the slope and the approaching English soldiers and raised his sword high.

"Follow me!" he ordered his troops, who turned as one man, their morale boosted by seeing their duke alive and hale. "Let's show them the true strength of our army!"

The pursuing English forces barely had time to react as William's men charged at them with renewed vigor.

~oOOo~

The incident proved to be the turning point of the battle. The retreat of the Breton division provoked the English to temporarily break their ranks and cost lots of them their lives when William's forces suddenly turned on them and killed many of them before they could reach the safety of the hill again. Although the shield wall still held, after a few more feigned retreats of the Normans - carefully orchestrated this time - and the subsequent slaughter of the pursuing Englishmen (how the English could fall for the same trick each time, William had no idea) the ranks of housecarls forming the shield wall have seriously thinned out. And after King Harold and his brothers have lost their lives, the English forces were left leaderless and began to collapse. Most of the remaining Englishmen fled, pursued by the Normans, while a group of soldiers loyal to the royal household decided to honorably but futilely fight to the end, guarding the body of their dead king till their last breaths.

Before the day ended, the battle was over. The bodies of the dead were cleared away from the centre of the battlefield and William ordered to have his tent pitched, in order to hold a celebratory dinner. One by one, members of the ducal party who were either uninjured or at least physically fit enough to participate in the feast assembled in the tent, and plates with delicious food and drinks were brought in for the hungry warriors.

It was then that his younger brother Odo finally decided to grace William with his presence.

"Brother?" he approached him with an uneasy expression, omitting the usual congratulations to his victory that everyone else showered the duke-soon-to-be-king with.

"What's with that face, Odo?" William cheered, sprawled in a comfortable chair, with a goblet of wine in his hand. "This is a celebration, not a funeral. We have won - sit down and enjoy yourself. You can pray for everyone's souls later."

Yet Odo didn't move from his position in front of William's table.

"Have you by chance encountered a wizard from Poitou by the name of Armand Malfoi today?" he asked, giving his brother and monarch an inquisitive look.

William pondered the name. "Doesn't sound familiar," he concluded.

Odo's round face visibly relaxed at that. "I knew it couldn't be true with the horse," he said, his voice brimming with relief.

"Horse?!" William sat up straight, remembering the blonde wizard from before. He hadn't bothered to ask for the man's name...

His half-brother's cautiously optimistic expression morphed back into a mask of worry.

"Please, tell me you haven't entered a magical contract that involved a horse," he pleaded.

"Odo, I have made it clear before we embarked on the journey across the Channel that those wizards are your responsibility. Whatever that Malfoi has been pestering you with, just give it to him and be done with him."

What could he possibly want? Gold? A piece of land? Wizards weren't of noble blood, so they weren't entitled to receive compensation in the form of landed property – unlike his knights, who were promised an estate in England as a reward for their service. But in this special case, he would be willing to overlook it. The blonde has considerably contributed to today's victory after all.

Odo leaned across the table to whisper into his brother's ear. Apparently, he considered the information to be too delicate for other people's ears.

"He claims that you promised him the Kingdom of England."

William sprung from his chair so quickly that he overturned his goblet and red wine spilled across the table in all directions.

"What!"

~oOOo~

The space in front of his tent was crowded with people William of Normandy has never seen before, yet after meeting one of their lot, he was rather confident to say that he recognized them as members of the wizarding folk. Neither of them had military attire or weapons of any kind, and they looked like courtiers who have just escaped the royal palace to get some fresh air, not like soldiers who have spent over twelve hours on the battlefield. All of them wore robes of different colors – green, purple, orange, even black – and several of the older ones had their heads covered with strangely shaped large pointed hats.

A few of them stood close together, chatting animatedly. Among that group, William spotted a familiar figure in maroon robes.

"You!" he shouted and advanced on the blonde man, his entire body brimming with rage.

The wizard – Malfoi – turned in a fluid, graceful motion. He seemed to be a little startled by the duke's sudden appearance, yet visibly not afraid of the angry monarch at all. He regarded William with a complacent gaze.

"Yes, me."

"Let's talk this over like civilized people," Odo quickly inserted himself between the two, yet his attempt to act as a buffer failed right at the start. William pushed him aside and gripped the young wizard by the neck of his robes.

"What are you playing at? Why are you walking around, telling everyone I have traded England with you - _for a bloody horse_?"

Malfoi raised a single blonde eyebrow, his expression showing that he was unimpressed by the duke's brutish behavior.

"You have made an offer, I delivered," he stated calmly, as though William wasn't moments away from squeezing the life out of him. "You may have changed your mind afterwards, yet that doesn't make our deal any less valid."

"Deal?" William's voice shook with fury. "There was _no deal_!"

"I have informed you - _before_ you took off with the horse - that you are entering into a binding magical agreement, have I not?"

"That means nothing!"

"Actually, it does," a wrinkly wizard with a long grey beard interjected. He was one of those with a hat, his midnight blue robes had little golden stars and moons on them, and he appeared to be several decades older than his comrades, most of whom seemed to be in their twenties. "According to the Magna Charta of Poitiers – signed by Charles Martel and in subsequent centuries repeatedly confirmed by many rulers of France and their vassals, including your esteemed ancestor Rollo – a binding magical contract is always formed whenever a non-magical person requests from a wizard or witch to render magical service for them. This is a means to prevent exploitation of our people by yours, a way to ensure they don't run off without payment as soon as they have received the service. According to the stipulations of the charter, the recipient of this service must be informed beforehand that they are entering into a magically binding agreement, so that he or she can make a decision whether or not to accept the service. Had young Armand here," he motioned with his hand toward the blonde, who smirked complacently, "not told you of the contract before you finalized the transaction, you wouldn't have been bound by the terms of the agreement."

"You must understand, Master L'Estrange," Odo said, "that my brother didn't sign any contracts with your young friend here."

The old wizard merely shrugged. "That isn't required. As per the aforementioned charter, an oral agreement is all it takes for the deal to be considered valid. A written contract would be impossible in most cases, given that the majority of your people can neither read nor write."

"Written or not," William crossed his arms over his chest, "I didn't promise the English throne to anyone. I'm not an idiot."

"Well, _I_ didn't make it up," Malfoi countered. "_You_ were the one who stipulated the conditions of our contract. _I_ didn't run around shouting 'kingdom for a horse'."

"That was just a _figure of speech_!" William roared, losing his last nerve.

"_Aha_! So you _do_ admit you have said that!" a tall young woman with curly pitch black hair exclaimed. She was standing right next to Malfoi and leaning slightly into him. "That's so typical of you Muggles. You want us to cast spells for you, yet as soon as payment is due, you start looking for ways how to weasel out of your commitment."

"Miss Noir, please," L'Estrange said in a placating voice. "There's no need to get so aggravated."

"Let's not quibble," said Odo. "I am certain everyone here realizes that when someone says 'I'd kill for this', they don't actually mean to murder anyone. Just as a person claiming 'I'd give you anything' doesn't truly intend to part with their entire fortune. You cannot reasonably hold my brother responsible for every single word that crossed his lips, just because he didn't express himself quite clearly in a stressful situation."

Malfoi curled his lip. "He requested a horse. Stated a reward. I provided a steed, he accepted. It can't get any clearer than that."

"So what now?" A young man stepped behind Miss Noir. He was taller than her, but his equally curly black hair and similar facial features gave him away as her brother. "All of us have made a contract with you to fight Harold Godwinson's warlocks for you. We have spent the better part of today casting hexes and dodging curses. Should we expect not to be paid for _that_ as well?"

A displeased murmur went through the assembled crowd at his words.

"Now, now, Cepheus, I am certain Bishop Odo didn't mean to imply that," Master L'Estrange cast a meaningful look at the cleric, as if willing him to be quiet. "After all, he knows what happens to a person who breaks a magically binding contract."

"Well, what _does_ happen to a person who breaks your stupid contract?" William asked with derision. Sure, those wizards were powerful, but not almighty. "Will they lose all their teeth and hair? Turn into a toad? Disappear in a puff of smoke?"

"The standard punishment, unless specifically agreed otherwise, is one week of bad luck," L'Estrange said in a calm, reserved voice.

William couldn't help it - he laughed aloud.

_Only seven days?_ That didn't sound so bad. He could simply wait it out.

"I can see you don't consider this punishment severe enough," said Malfoi. "But think again. How much luck do you need merely to survive your celebratory dinner today? Do you enjoy eating walnuts? I bet it would be considered bad luck if you choked on one. Is the stool you'll be sitting on steady enough? If you are a bit less lucky than usual, you might fall and break your neck. Or perhaps the fruit on your table has been washed with contaminated water and you'll die of dysentery..."

That was the last drop. Not only was the blonde wizard insolent as hell, now he was openly threatening him. _Him!_ The Duke of Normandy!

"How dare you!" William roared, no longer able to rein in his emotions and drew his sword.

_Enough of this nonsense! I'll make quick work of this Mr Magical once and for all._

Yet before he had a chance to swing his trusty blade at Malfoi, the blonde wizard pulled a wooden stick out of his sleeve at lightning speed and pointed it in William's direction. A jet of blue light flashed through the air, reaching the duke before he was able to dodge. He instinctively flinched but immediately relaxed when he didn't feel the impact of a blow or pain resulting from an injury. Whatever Malfoi had aimed for with this stunt, he must have missed.

William raised his hand to deliver a blow that would finish the wizard off… but to his great horror, he saw that he was no longer holding a sword - instead, he was gripping the tail of an enormous, vicious-looking serpent. The body of the snake was as thick as his arm and covered in silvery scales, its eyes a malevolent red and its teeth seemed impossibly large as the reptile's head turned towards William, lashing out at his hand with an enraged hiss. The duke quickly dropped the poisonous beast and jumped as far away as he could to avoid what was sure to be a deadly bite. He was in luck - once on the ground, the snake lost all interest in him. It hissed once more and slithered away in the direction of the enclosure where horses were kept.

"That..." William managed weakly, his face pale and eyes turning glassy. He stared at his empty hand, his brain frozen with shock.

_It..._

… _slithered away._

_His sword... and then it just... slithered away..._

"Now, that wasn't very nice of you, Armand," L'Estrange's reproving voice was coming to him as if from a large distance. "I'm sure Duke William was quite attached to his sword."

… _slithered away._

_First it was a sword..._

… _and then it was a snake..._

Someone gently touched his shoulder.

"Um... Brother, are you quite alright?" Odo's usually rich baritone was tight with concern.

"Of course I am!" William snapped out of his stupor and shook off the hand of his worried sibling. He struggled to assume his usual regal stance. He couldn't afford to look weak. Especially in front of these people.

_Damned wizards and their weird, unholy toys..._

"Madame Desrosiers here came with an interesting solution," Odo motioned with his head towards a plump older woman in a bright red gown, with a matching red hat perched on top of her head.

"Your Grace," the woman stepped forward. "Since it sounds unreasonable to demand such a large country as England from you, maybe young Malfoi would accept a... less extensive kingdom."

"Sure, why not," William drawled, his words dripping with sarcasm. "I have plenty of kingdoms to spare. Or do you suggest I should go and conquer another, smaller kingdom for him, while I'm at it?"

"No, I meant, there is surely a piece of England you might be willing to part with, which would be sufficient to fulfill the terms of your contract. A place you might turn into a separate kingdom and then give it to Malfoi. You'll be giving land to your vassals anyway, this would be similar. Let's say one thousand acres?"

"A measly _one thousand_?" Malfoi curled his lip. "Is that a joke? Even a _hundred_ _thousand_ would be too little!"

William's blood pressure rose again at the thought of having to give the greedy wizard such a large chunk of land. "Why don't you ask for half of my country!"

"Just think, Armand," L'Estrange said, once again the voice of reason. "The larger the property, the more Muggle tenants you'll have to deal with. Is that truly something you wish to trouble yourself with?"

"He has a point," Miss Noir rejoined the conversation. "Why bother with all those tiresome Muggles if it isn't necessary? What about ten thousand acres, dear? That sounds like a reasonably large area, a cozy little home." The way she pressed against Malfoi made it clear that she was soon going to become a co-owner of said property, if she wasn't one already.

William would hardly describe a ten thousand acres estate as 'little' or 'cozy', yet before he had a chance to voice his opinion, his brother chimed in: "Ten thousand is acceptable."

The duke shot him a glance that said, _'What do you think you're doing?'_

Yet Odo countered with a glance of his own, which said, _'I'm saving your ass, you ungrateful moron!'_

William remembered the snake slithering somewhere around the campsite and an involuntary shudder passed through his body. _Yes, ten thousand acres wasn't such a large price if it got the wizarding folks off his neck._

Malfoi rubbed his chin in thought. "Fine," he said after several long minutes. "But I won't take some swamp or a barren piece of rock."

"I've heard Wiltshire is a very nice place to live," Miss Noir said with a dreamy expression that told William she was already picturing herself as the lady of the estate in question. "Green rolling hills, sprawling fields and meadows, deep forests, ancient magical monuments..."

_Magical monuments?!_

"If you like it, you shall have it, darling," said Malfoi with a fond smile directed at her. Then he turned and glowered at the duke. "Unless Duke William has something against it?"

"Wiltshire is fine," William uttered through gritted teeth. He had his sight set on lucrative properties in Wiltshire for a long time already and had wished to make them part of his royal estate. Now that he would have to be neighbors with Malfoi, the idea of owning land in the area suddenly held much less appeal.

Malfoi produced a piece of parchment out of thin air, tapped it with his wooden stick and large ink letters appeared on it.

"If you would attach your seal here, then," he said. "In front of witnesses, so there can't be any more 'misunderstandings'."

He gave the parchment to William, who promptly handed it over to Odo.

The bishop read aloud: "William, Duke of Normandy, hereby declares that upon his ascension to the throne of England he will cede to Armand Malfoi a kingdom of exactly 10,000 acres in size, located in Wiltshire, South West England. This will be seen as a fulfillment of the contract concluded between them on October 14th 1066 at 11 o'clock in the morning."

William pulled off his signet ring.

"Fetch me the wax, Odo. Let's get this over with."

~oOOo~

The rest of William's campaign resembled a walk in the park. Sure, the English resisted him on every step, yet no matter what they did, they were unable to stop his advancement. In two months he was in London and was crowned king of England on Christmas Day at Westminster Abbey, a magnificent church only recently rebuilt in the Romanesque style by his predecessor, the late King Edward.

It was his opportunity to bask in the glory of his triumph. His men hailed him as a hero and his popularity amongst them reached new heights. The Saxon magnates who had opposed him before his victory over Harald suddenly bent over backwards to get in his good graces. All the riches of England were his. Life was great. But there was one thought he couldn't get out of his head.

_He now had a kingdom. When would that damn wizard come to demand his payment? And would he truly content himself with merely the stipulated piece of land?_

This nagging thought was constantly at the back of his mind and prevented him from properly enjoying the ostentatious celebratory dinner held at his new palace with the members of his court and numerous allies. Instead, he spent most of the dinner stealing furtive glances towards the farther end of the room, where the magicals were seated. They didn't seem very keen on mingling with the non-magical members of William's court, happily chatting only among themselves and not giving the rest of the guests much attention.

William knew they have already received their payment - ungodly amounts of gold, as stipulated in their respective contracts. He had authorized his brother Odo to withdraw money from the royal treasury to dispense among the magical folks and settle all their claims immediately, so that they would no longer have a reason to stay at his court. The wizards (and witches) were useful as hell, that was for sure, but their magic and strange ways rubbed William the wrong way – best to be rid of them as quickly as possible. He has been informed that several of them intended to use their newly acquired wealth to buy landed property in England, and quietly ordered his clerks to make sure that any such estates were situated as far from the royal domain as possible. Let the local landowners bother with them instead of him.

There was one wizard in particular William couldn't wait to be rid of. Malfoi didn't approach him during the feast, yet as soon as the king retreated to his rooms afterwards, he had a visitor.

The blonde wizard wasn't in any way bothered by the fact that the door to William's rooms was closed and two armed soldiers were standing guard in front of it. He simply somehow _appeared_ in his rooms, a soft 'crack' being the only sound that alerted the new king of his presence. William didn't want to contemplate what it meant for his overall security if random wizards could enter and leave his chambers as they pleased.

"King William, I believe you have something of mine," said Malfoi with a haughty look on his handsome face.

William stalked over to a small desk by the window and lifted two parchments that lay on top of it.

"Here," he said gruffly, thrusting them at the pesky wizard.

The first document described how William, as the new king of England, divided his new kingdom into two independent kingdoms, one of them being the territory in Wiltshire which Malfoi picked as his reward. With the second document William gifted this smaller kingdom to Malfoi. William's men have been working on both documents since that fateful battle to ensure they weren't legally contestable, so that the only thing that remained to be done was to attach his royal seal, which he did today right after the coronation.

Malfoi made a show of reading both documents with great care, as though he was concerned that William would attempt to trick him. The king fumed with repressed anger at the blatant show of disrespect. _The blasted wizard dared to insinuate_ he _was untrustworthy? The cheek of him! _

After a while the young wizard rolled up the parchments and turned to William with a brilliant smile.

"Perfect," he said and inclined his head slightly. "It was a pleasure to do business with you. If you ever need my service again, do not hesitate to contact me."

"That won't be necessary," William uttered, the diplomatic equivalent of 'not in a million years, you freak'.

_I'd rather drop dead than to request his service again_, he thought as Malfoi disappeared into thin air without as much as a 'farewell'.

**~ooOOOoo~****  
**

**Malfoy Manor, present**

Lucius noted with satisfaction that his grandson was watching him with unfeigned excitement.

"Wow! So Malfoy Manor is actually a kingdom and we're a royal family?" Scorpius exclaimed, his eyes bright and cheeks flushed. "But that means you're a _king_, right?"

"We Malfoys care nothing for Muggle titles," Lucius corrected him, although he would lie if he said it didn't boost his ego at least a tiny bit that he was in possession of a title held in such high esteem by Muggles and wizards alike.

Scorpius sobered a bit. "It's a pity I can't use this story for my assignment," he said with a small frown.

Lucius has had enough. "What in Merlin's name is wrong with _this one_?" _Why did the boy have to be so picky?_

"Well, Armand Malfoy practically blackmailed William into giving him the land. I told you I want to show our family in a good light."

Lucius suppressed a sigh. "Are you a Slytherin or not?" Sometimes he wondered where all that innocence came from. Certainly not from _his_ side of the family. It must've been the boy's mother's fault, no doubt. "Simply tweak the facts the way it suits you. It happened almost a thousand years ago and the details aren't common knowledge. Who is going to question whatever you choose to present as truth?"

Scorpius regarded his grandfather with a mixture of hope and uncertainty. Then a smile slowly spread across his face.

"Thank you, Grandfather. You've been a huge help!"

The boy jumped from his seat, gave Lucius a hug, and before the Malfoy patriarch had a chance to react, he was already on his way out the door.

_Oh, the recklessness of youth!_

**~ooOOOoo~**

_**How My Ancestor Interacted With Muggles**_

_by_

_Scorpius Malfoy_

_My ancestor Armand Malfoy was born in the 11th century in the Poitou area on the western coast of France. He graduated from Beauxbatons Academy of Magic during the 1060s, which was a time of great political upheaval among Muggles in Britain. In 1066, Edward, the Muggle king of England, died without issue. He had named his cousin William, the Duke of Normandy, as his heir, but Harold Godwinson, the son of Edward's former adversary, usurped the throne instead. William immediately set about assembling troops, determined to sail to England and gain what was rightfully his. _

_As was customary at that time, William also gathered a group of wizards and witches to help him fight against Harold's magical supporters. Armand Malfoy was one of those who joined William's just cause. He sailed to Britain alongside several progenitors of prominent British wizarding families, many of whom currently count themselves among the Sacred 28._

_Armand soon distinguished himself in battle against the Saxon wizards and witches. Yet his true time to shine came during what would later become known as the Battle of Hastings. At one point during the battle, Armand noticed that Duke William, after having fallen from his horse, was in dire danger on the battlefield and immediately hastened to his aid. He equipped the duke with a new horse with the help of advanced transfiguration, which enabled him to quickly reach his troops. Only thanks to Armand's swift help William survived and was able to lead his troops to victory. _

_Overcome by gratitude, the Duke, who was henceforth known as King William I, told Armand Malfoy he could have anything he wished as a repayment for his service. Armand, whose great wish was to settle in England, chose a piece of land in Wiltshire, which the king granted him therewith. On this land, Armand founded Malfoy Manor, which has been the seat of our family ever since. _

* * *

**Author's Note:**

As some of you probably already guessed, my source of information regarding the various ancestors of the Malfoy family is Pottermore. The same goes for Linfred of Stinchcombe and Evangeline Orpington (though her being an ancestor of the Prewetts is purely my invention). Since Rowling never mentioned what kind of "shady services" Armand Malfoy did for King William in exchange for the land in Wiltshire, I took the liberty to fabricate my own tale, which I believe is just as likely as any other.

All French witches and wizards mentioned in this story are meant to be ancestors of British pure-blood families mentioned in the Harry Potter books. The first one who guesses correctly which old surnames belong to which modern families (all must be correct) can name one minor character in one of my upcoming fanfics (though I'm warning you in advance that it may take a lot of time before any of them are posted).


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